


Promise (I'll Always Be There), Promise (I'll Be The Cure)

by JemTheKingOfSass



Category: The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Postpartum Depression, Spoilers for untranslated chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemTheKingOfSass/pseuds/JemTheKingOfSass
Summary: Lan Wangji climbs the stairs, gliding to a silent stop in front of the French doors, drawing aside the curtain and peeking into the nursery. His heart clenches painfully when he witnesses the sight he’s been seeing night after night upon his return home from the hospital. His husband sits motionless in the gliding chair, eyes vacantly staring out the lone window, the sheen of tear tracks lit up on his pale cheeks, illuminated by the soft glow of the bunny nightlight. In his partner’s arms, their four-month old daughter, adopted mere days after she was born under a full spring moon, is bundled and held snugly against a trembling chest, dark eyes wide open, bleary and glistening with the recent bout of crying the doctor had heard when he first came home and slid off his shoes in the entry.





	Promise (I'll Always Be There), Promise (I'll Be The Cure)

**Author's Note:**

> (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑ My first MDZS fic! *sweats* There are such beautiful writers in this space, I hope I do the fandom justice! I love MDZS and its characters, especially the relationship between WWX/LWJ. Sometimes I cannot believe they are canon. They are both so lovely, and their relationship is not only breathtaking but transcendent. <3
> 
> (Title from [The Cure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HeGWiCxtMbA) by Lady Gaga - this song came on my playlist when I was just starting a JC-centric fic, and suddenly I was slammed over the head with WangXian feels because it's the most perfect LWJ POV song.)
> 
>  

 

 

* * *

 

Lan Wangji climbs the stairs, gliding to a silent stop in front of the French doors, drawing aside the curtain and peeking into the nursery. His heart clenches painfully when he witnesses the sight he’s been seeing night after night upon his return home from the hospital. His husband sits motionless in the gliding chair, eyes vacantly staring out the lone window, the sheen of tear tracks lit up on his pale cheeks, illuminated by the soft glow of the bunny nightlight. In his partner’s arms, their four-month old daughter, adopted mere days after she was born under a full spring moon, is bundled and held snugly against a trembling chest, dark eyes wide open, bleary and glistening with the recent bout of crying the doctor had heard when he first came home and slid off his shoes in the entry. 

Sometimes Lan Wangji opens the door and removes the inconsolable infant from Wei Wuxian’s arms, placing the child on her back in the antique crib which has been passed down through multiple Lan generations, his elder brother having inspected it and deeming it safe enough for his new niece. Other times, Lan Wangji stands motionless at the glass, wondering how the light has dimmed so rapidly in his husband’s bright eyes, sparkling enthusiastic silver reduced to dull gunmetal over the span of mere weeks. 

Wei Wuxian had wanted to grow their family with a fervent focus, broaching the topic so often Lan Wangji is not sure the other man had heard him agree the very first time it was discussed. His husband had frequently lamented the years he studied his craft abroad, isolated and learning art techniques from masters at the Sorbonne, while Lan Wangji and their son remained back home in order for him to complete medical school and secure a spot for his residency. They had been apart for years, no time nor funds to visit each other often, and Wei Wuxian had missed far too many moments of young Sizhui’s life.

Determined to make up for lost time, the other two members of Lan Wangji’s family are often found together, Wei Wuxian sharing every piece of knowledge and expertise he has ever learned, Sizhui lapping it up eagerly. Despite a few tumultuous years during early adolescence, when their son had turned more frequently to the parent who had never abandoned him, claiming a sudden need to improve his already excellent skills on the guqin, Wei Wuxian and Sizhui are fairly inseparable. 

That is, until the addition of little Lan Xiaohui, as beautiful and longed for as the morning sunlight she is named after. She demands attention constantly, leaving little time for anyone else - hunger, exhaustion, and pain all causing her to scream for relief. With Sizhui’s rigorous schooling and Lan Wangji’s laborious schedule, the taxing monotony of tending to Xiaohui falls on Wei Wuxian’s freelance work-from-home shoulders. Shoulders used to holding burdens that appear to be too much for him and his carefree attitude, but have always been strong and supportive and have never failed their family. 

Tonight, Lan Wangji is sure he is failing his husband. 

The doctor’s hand is on the doorknob when the calm presence of his son arrives at his side, placing steady, reliable fingers over his father’s. “Why don’t I take care of A-Hui tonight?” 

“You have school tomorrow.” Lan Wangji is not about to task his diligent son with his own failures. This is a mess he has been idly watching from the sidelines, unsure how to assist and frozen with worry, the baby not adjusting and his husband fading more each day. While he heals and saves the lives of strangers, secluding himself from the unraveling threads of his home, he has been allowing his own family to drown. 

Sizhui smiles, squeezing Lan Wangji’s hand in a show of silent support. “Then I won’t go. One day won’t derail my studies and I’ll borrow Jingyi or Jin Ling’s notes. What good are a cousin or a best friend if they don’t help me out.” The student sobers, teasing twinkle dimming in his eyes as he sweeps his gaze over the two figures in the nursery. “Father, things can’t go on like this. I’ll take care of my sister. You have to take care of Dad.”

An arrow pierces Lan Wangji’s heart as the weight of his son’s words settle on him. “Sizhui.” 

“He needs you.”

 

* * *

 

Lan Sizhui carries the warm bottle into the nursery, setting it next to the folded blankets, silicone soothers, frozen teething rings, as well as his current novel and phone; he leaves his assignments tucked away in his backpack, seeing as more important work needs to begin tonight. He double checks he has everything necessary for a night of caring for Xiaohui in order to not disturb his parents for even a moment. He glances through the French doors at the adjoining bedroom and the spartan king bed within it, devoid of the mountain of decorative pillows and fluffy blankets that his dad reverently places back in their designated spots each morning. He sees the careless heap of discarded accessories on the floor at the foot of the bed, gathering dust and wrinkles as they wait for Wei Wuxian to come back to life and restore them to their rightful place atop the mattress. 

Sizhui loves his baby sister, had been nearly as passionate about expanding their trio to a quartet as his dad, but desperately misses the energy and light that is a staple of this home, of this family. A slight furrow settles between his brows, he’s more troubled by this situation than by any complex math problem he faces in school. His studies are challenging and force him to consider all homework with the utmost logic and calm, and yet this is a tangle of emotions and the mind, darkness creeping into places it has hopefully never been and it certainly doesn’t belong. His dad sparkles and it hurts to see him struggling to break out from whatever fierce ghostly presence holds him prisoner within its iron grip.

As he bends down to take Xiaohui from Wei Wuxian’s arms, Sizhui presses a kiss to both their foreheads, before glancing over at his father, already prepared to gather his catatonic husband in his capable arms. He’s convinced there is nothing his father cannot do, no problem insurmountable, including one of the heart that appears elusive and complicated. He watches his parents depart the nursery in favor of the guest room on the other side of the house. 

Sizhui tightens his grip on his sister, determination coursing through him. He thought his dad would break his own fall, could never hit rock bottom of a fathomless black canyon, the devotion to his loved ones enough to maintain his emotional health, even with little besides dogged perseverance and boundless optimism. Sizhui should have stepped in sooner with a lifeline, he’s no longer a clueless child, and will now do whatever he can to assist until his dad’s sunshine returns to brighten their family, illuminating the darkness and chasing away the shadows.

 

* * *

 

Lan Wangji carefully places Wei Wuxian onto the guest bed, still perfectly made up following Wen Ning’s departure, a university peer of his husband’s and their most recent visitor. Wei Wuxian had insisted on setting everything back to rights, including fluffing and folding the mound of coordinating cushions and throws to make the space homey and inviting. Lan Wangji frowns as he realizes their own bed hasn’t been treated with nearly as much care in ages. He used to inwardly roll his eyes as he plucked pillow after pillow off their mattress when all he wanted to do was fall face first on the bed and lose himself to slumber after a brutal twelve-hour shift. 

He recites the names of each type of throw pillow as he removes it from the guest bed, speaking loudly enough to garner his husband’s attention, half-lidded glassy eyes staring sightlessly at Lan Wangji’s motions. 

“Scarlet flanged pillow.” The pillow is lightly thrown onto the open window seat. “Charcoal flanged pillow.” Toss. “Houndstooth box pillow.” Toss. “Black bolster.” Toss. “Floral bolster.” Toss. One last pillow is airborne before Lan Wangji will begin to remove the excess blankets draped along the frame. “Chevron lumbar pillow.” Toss. 

“Herringbone knife edge.”

Lan Wangji almost drops the sable afghan in his hands. Similarly to dealing with their youngest pet rabbit, a mottled black and white bunny who happens to be extremely skittish, he doesn’t want to scare Wei Wuxian back into his hole. He misses his teasing voice and lilting laugh, so even these few monotone syllables are enough to make Lan Wangji’s heart stutter in hope and anticipation.

“Mm. It is indeed herringbone. I forgot.” He glances over at his husband, whose gaze bores into him, stripping away his protective layers and ingrained self-control. His breath catches in his throat. Lan Wangji will bare everything Wei Wuxian asks of him and beyond. If turning himself inside out if it could possibly help, he would present his raw and bleeding heart to his husband, if only the other is able and willing to do the same in return. Lan Wangji wants to clutch all Wei Wuxian’s pain in his hands, hold it for him, crush it until it is dripping and lifeless, nothing remaining to cause harm.

“Where’s Xiaohui?” Wei Wuxian bolts up, eyes wild, scrambling to the edge of the mattress on hands and knees, clawing at the comforter in a desperate bid for his daughter. “Where is she?!”

Lan Wangji rushes to the other man’s side, circling his waist with arms strengthened by tussles with unruly patients and his and Wei Wuxian’s everyday activities, which have grown to be a distant memory of late. Lan Wangji misses intimacy with his husband the way he misses _everything_ about his husband - his sparkle, his fire, the manner in which he is unabashedly himself in every action, every laugh, every breath. There is a unique passion behind each barking guffaw that escapes Wei Wuxian when he rolls around on the Lan family library floor in hysterics, as well as the throaty sighs that escape his lips as sweat beads along his hairline and his toes curl around the bedsheets. 

Right now there is a fierce heat in the anguished howl for his child, in the fists that beat against Lan Wangji’s arms, as Wei Wuxian struggles to escape the tight hold. “Wei Ying!” He holds his husband until the short-lived burst of energy dies and his head drops in defeat, the sharp chin hitting a heaving chest. “Wei Ying. Xiaohui is fine. She's with Sizhui for the night. She is safe.”

Wei Wuxian murmurs, an echo of the vibrant timbre often carried in his voice, so quiet Lan Wangji has to strain to hear his usually boisterous husband. “But I hear her, I hear her crying.”

“No,” Lan Wangji shakes his head. “She is asleep. She isn’t crying right now, she’s fine.”

Wei Wuxian sags in Lan Wangji’s arms, not with relief but with exhaustion, the wear of long hours spent beating back roiling emotions etched into the lines of his face and the fatigued set of his shoulders. 

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.” Tired grey eyes timidly meet his. “Lan Zhan, it’s so dark.”

“I am here.”

“But it's too big, it's too much.”

“Wei Ying.”

“This isn't your problem, it's mine.”

“I am right by your side. You don’t have to fight alone.”

“I can handle it, don’t worry about me.”

“I will help you anyway.”

Lan Wangji holds his husband as he argues, fighting against assistance, yet Wei Wuxian approached the topic first, admitting things are dim and murky somewhere below the crashing waves. Lan Wangji yearns to break the surface and haul Wei Wuxian back into the sunlight, forcing air into his lungs, allowing his soul to breathe freely again, unencumbered by the weight of self-imposed appearances and expectations.

As Wei Wuxian releases the tight grip he has on himself, collapsing back into the supportive hold, Lan Wangji raises his arm, tentatively placing his hand on his husband's head. He weaves his fingers into matted black hair that desperately needs washing, running them carefully through the long tangled strands and gently working through the knots. Disheartened by the lack of response, although expected, Lan Wangji shifts Wei Wuxian until he is sitting up against the headboard. 

“Stay awake. I need to get something.”

Lan Wangji retrieves the items he requires and returns to the guest room to find Wei Wuxian fiddling with the silky red ribbon often adorning his hair. He glances up at Lan Wangji and holds it out. “This was in my pocket.”

“Mm.” He accepts the ribbon, holding it reverently between his fingers. 

Wei Wuxian blinks down at his hands, almost as though he forgets he just gave his ribbon away. Lan Wangji loathes the blank expression, devoid of the vigor and life that defines this man’s existence; he would rather be physically sparring as they just were. Anything would be better than this reviling emptiness that deserves no space in Wei Wuxian's heart. He places his basket of supplies on the nightstand and sits on the bed, maneuvering himself behind his husband, bracketing him between his legs to keep him still and secure. He reaches for the wide-toothed wooden comb and bottle of deep-treatment oil, squirting a generous amount on his hands before slowly working the product into Wei Wuxian’s hair, massaging his scalp with tender precision, fingers trying to exorcise demons through skilled touch alone. 

A sigh escapes Wei Wuxian’s mouth as his head falls back onto Lan Wangji’s shoulder. His eyes flutter closed and Wangji tilts his head down to press a kiss onto thin eyelids, stopping short of grazing his lips along every narrow blue vein that runs along the delicate skin. He inhales the scent of his husband, unbathed in far too long, yet undeniably raw and exposed, no trace of soap masking the buried odor of pain and unworthiness that seeps into Lan Wangji’s consciousness. He flinches imperceptibly, certain he reeks of inadequacy right now no matter how clean he keeps his body.

Lan Wangji rubs more oil carefully into long black strands. He takes the comb to unknot tangles and brush through hair that deserves to be wild and free, barely restrained into a loose semblance of order, a soft and sweet high ponytail which somehow reflects the owner’s temperament perfectly. Seemingly reckless and without a care in the world, except as Lan Wangji stares at the rough hair held in his hands, it’s plain to see how easily snarled and chaotic the strands can get if left uncared for and up to their own devices, no one tending to their needs. 

The wooden handle cracks under the crushing grip of Lan Wangji.

The sound of splintering within him echoes in his head long after the comb has fallen from his hands.

 

* * *

 

Lan Sizhui strolls the house, Xiaohui cradled securely in his arms, swaying the baby languidly back and forth as they roam the halls. Concern for his parents pushes his curiosity and shuffles his feet shamelessly towards the guest suite. His dad has been fading and he needs to know that he won’t be a shade of himself forever, craves proof of his bright existence being fanned back into a flame. 

Sizhui desperately misses his dad, even more than when he was physically in a different country, and sorely feels the absence of all their time spent together - silly talks, random outings, kitchen disasters. Though more carefree than the younger of the pair, the teen well aware he is far too serious for his age at times, his dad always listens to him, proving time and time again he is both a proficient role model and someone easy to admire. Sizhui holds a deep-seated respect for both his parents, confident if his life emulates either of theirs he will be proud of himself, which makes the current darkness in their home heavy and suffocating.

The door to the bedroom is closed, and Sizhui hears no noise coming from inside. Preparing his unfortunate eyes for activities he has walked in on a few times over the years, barely restraining himself from slapping a hand over his still innocent sister’s young eyes, he turns the knob and peeks into the dim room. He doesn’t see either of his parents, which normally wouldn’t concern him, but this is an extenuating circumstance, and so he slips into the guest room uninvited. As soon as he enters, he hears the tell tale sounds of gentle splashing and water lapping coming from the attached bathroom. The door has been left open and Sizhui cannot stop his piqued interest, tightening his hold on Xiaohui and poking his head into the bathroom. 

The sight that greets his eyes nearly steals his breath; he hasn’t seen either of his parents in such a state since before Xiaohui joined their family. His father always works himself hard, throwing himself into his patients and workload with single-minded focus, and then caring for his family during his few off hours with the same drive. Sizhui has walked into his home office late into the early morning hours, his dad long since asleep in the master bedroom on the other side of the office wall, to see his father toiling over a tough case, attempting to heal everyone who crosses his path through tireless research and dedication. What he watches unfold now is a facet of his father rarely witnessed, his dad's effervescence capable of luring it out.

Sizhui watches the scene before him, and prays to every god he knows, that this is a sign his father is mending his dad with the same devotion.

 

* * *

 

Black hair splays over his bare forearm that rests on the back of the bathtub, clean and tamed into a long curtain of soft tresses that flow like a waterfall against his skin. Lan Wangji lays down the hair dryer and runs his free hand through Wei Wuxian’s hair, fingers gliding easily through the strands. Shiny grey gazes up at him, not following his movements, but simply staring at Lan Wangji’s face. A lone tear drips out of the corner of one of his eyes, trickling down his temple and disappearing underneath him. Lan Wangji kisses its path, his mouth leading him to Wei Wuxian’s ear as he nestles his forehead into the freshly dried silky hair, nose lightly tracing the shell of his ear.

“I love you, Wei Ying.”

A gradual but steady stream of moisture soaks the lips he has yet to remove from his husband’s body after this declaration. His words are nothing fancy nor eloquent, except perhaps they are words that Wei Wuxian no longer believes himself worthy of, the comfort of knowing he’s accepted and cherished exactly as he is, buried too far inside himself to be easily dragged into the forefront of his consciousness. Fingernails graze his cheek and he turns his head to see a trembling hand covering his husband’s face.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji raises his head and grasps his husband’s wrist, easing it away from the face it hides.

“Please,” whispers Wei Wuxian. “Don’t look at me.”

Lan Wangji considers the years they were forced apart by their ambitions and career paths and knows there is nothing in this universe that would prevent him from filling his vision, his perception, his dreams, _his soul_ with this man. Spending every moment with him wouldn’t be enough, and nothing his husband utters will stop Lan Wangji from drinking him in like a dying man in the desert. 

“I will look. I like everything I see.”

“This is ugly, Lan Zhan.” The wrist in his hand weakly tugs against the hold, trying to break free but Lan Wangji merely tightens his grip. “You deserve better.”

“Ridiculous,” murmurs Lan Wangji. He releases his husband’s arm, which falls bonelessly into the bath with a loud splash. The water sloshing on the sides of the tub is deafening in the ensuing silence. He retrieves the clean washcloth hanging on the faucet and the bottle of Wei Wuxian’s favorite lotus blossom soap, lathering up suds while the scent of happier times overwhelms his senses. The breath is knocked out of Lan Wangji as the smell alone shoves recollections into his mind - their honeymoon in China, finalizing their adoption of Sizhui, Wei Ying’s joyeous return from Europe, Wei Ying’s excitement during his first gallery exhibit, Wei Ying’s exuberance and pride when Lan Wangji received his first hospital attending position, Wei Ying spread out below him like a buffet, Wei Ying playing his body like a symphony, Wei Ying’s uninhibited hugs, Wei Ying’s freely given smiles, Wei Ying. 

_Wei Ying_. 

As he languidly runs the washcloth along his husband’s torso, cleaning him, wiping away the grime of days spent under the oppressive cloud of melancholy, Lan Wangji longs to push the cloth further, deep into his partner’s body, beyond the smooth skin that glides under his palms and fails to protect him from his own treacherous thoughts. He wants to wash away whatever filth has settled over Wei Wuxian’s heart, choking out his sunshine and dulling his radiance. His tender touch turns into scrubbing, not even realizing how hard he’s pressing down until slender fingers cover his hand, stilling his motions. 

“Lan Zhan, you can’t clean me. Not how you want. No matter how hard you rub, there’s dirt you can’t remove with this washcloth.” Wei Wuxian swipes a thumb across Lan Wangji’s cheekbone, one he didn’t even notice was damp until he sees the glistening proof on his husband’s thumb. “But I like what you’re doing. Lan Zhan, it feels nice.”

The smallest of twitches at Wei Wuxian’s lips, the slightest movement of his cheeks which lifts the corners of his eyes, an echo of the familiar expression that belongs on his husband’s face. 

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji slides his arm out from behind his husband’s neck and cups his cheek reverently in his hand. Grey eyes close, and he runs a thumb slowly along the dark fan of eyelashes that shadow Wei Wuxian’s face, studying how each individual lash flutters back into place after it is disrupted by Lan Wangji’s ministrations. Just as he leans in, tipping up the gorgeous face below his, Wei Wuxian moves the hand that lays atop his, still clutching the soapy washcloth, and begins to guide their joined hands along his body. Up and down and in small circles with little rhyme or reason, except the touch is feather light, gradually sloughing away layers upon layers of build up, the action endless and repetitive.

Lan Wangji is soothed by the motion and the constant presence of his husband’s head resting against his, using him for support, with no fear that he’ll move away or stop bearing his weight. Despite being abundantly aware he has been letting his family down, somehow, _somehow_ , Wei Wuxian’s faith in him has remained unshakable, steadfast, strong. It feels undeserved, and yet, Lan Wangji wants to cradle that seedling delicately in his palms and nurture it back into full bloom, return it to something he can feel worthy of his husband possessing. 

Pulling his hand out from underneath Wei Wuxian’s, whose is left resting on his chest, Lan Wangji swishes the washcloth under the surface of the water. He shifts as far to the side as he can without disturbing Wei Wuxian, peering over at his husband’s closed eyes, face serenely content as he reclines in the bath. He lifts the sopping washcloth and holds it above them, where it sways, heavy with water and anticipation. If asked, Lan Wangji would admit he misses one thing in his home more than anything else. 

Lan Wangji grips the washcloth that hovers above their heads while his heart hovers in his throat, praying he isn’t about to ruin the tender, bruised moment that hasn’t even been given the chance to scab over, much less heal. Everything still hurts but they both need a reprieve, no matter how brief, how tentative, how fractured it might be.

This is reckless, but that is exactly what Wei Wuxian draws out of Lan Wangji. There are no consequences he cannot or will not deal with if it means Wei Wuxian is happy and loved and safe. 

He squeezes.

Water rains down over both their faces. Wei Wuxian’s grey eyes snap open, as he blinks past the relentless streams of bathwater running in rivulets down his face. Lan Wangji kneels, motionless, maintaining his position at the side of the tub that he’s held since he first lowered his husband into the bath, dropping the washcloth with a plop after all the water has been wrung out.

Wei Wuxian sputters and sits up, using both his hands to swipe water away from his eyes. Expression incredulous, he stares down at the washcloth that has sunk to the bottom of the bath, before swiveling his head over to meet the intense stare of his husband. Lan Wangji can only imagine how worried his own amber eyes appear right now, likely betraying his calm demeanor to someone who easily sees through his stoic front, more easily breached by him than the thin gossamer strands of a spider's web. 

“Lan Zhan.” 

Lan Wangji’s jaw drops in an unusual display of discomfort, and he feels it hang there, uselessly, gaping like a stuck pig or hooked fish or some other helpless hunted animal. Not speaking is nothing new, but he wants to defend his actions, explain what he was stupidly thinking for a brief flash of time, letting his self-control crumble as he slapped his heart onto his sleeve and bared a desperate attempt at stealing laughter from his ailing husband. He had spent the entire evening promising himself that he would do whatever he could to coax life back into Wei Wuxian, and instead he allowed himself a self-indulgent error in judgement. Apology lodged in his throat, regret sitting heavily in his gut, mental wheels spinning as he wonders if he’s allowed Wei Wuxian to slip away again when they were just taking the first wobbly baby step towards a new, hazy future. 

“Wei Ying, I-”

A sound bubbles out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth, it sounds rusty and shallow, but is still unmistakable. His eyes crinkle closed and his hand reaches forward to clutch at Lan Wangji’s shoulder, and a beautiful ringing laugh fills the bathroom with it’s magical tinkling that cuts through every doubt Lan Wangji clings to. He gapes at his husband, apparently unable to close his mouth. 

“Your face, Lan Zhan! Your face, your face, where’s the mirror? Lan Zhan, you have to see it, I’ve never seen it like this! Surely you haven’t either. Can you close your mouth? Is it broken? Lan Zhan, have you broken your face?” Wei Wuxian’s relentless babble washes over Lan Wangji like a comforting childhood blanket, like the soothing warmth of homemade soup, like fantastical pixie dust that coats every inch of Lan Wangji and both excites and calms him from the inside out. 

Before Lan Wangji can respond with anything other than responding mirth, a hand mirror appears over his shoulder, and Wei Wuxian lifts his gaze to stare adoringly above his husband’s head. 

“Are you feeling better, Dad?” Sizhui stands behind him, gently rocking a sleeping Xiaohui bundle in his arms, mouth happily smiling, expectant and hopeful eyes trained on Wei Wuxian. “Is everything gonna be okay?”

Lan Wangji grasps his husband’s hand, and turns to face their son. “Sizhui.”

“A-Yuan,” croones Wei Wuxian. “I’m working on it. Your father is helping.”

“I saw you laughing, I thought…” Sizhui stumbles over his words, clearly unsure how to give a voice to his concerns, flicking questioning eyes over at Lan Wangji, eyes that are so similar to his husband's. 

“Sizhui, we will get through this.” Lan Wangji gives a firm squeeze to the hand he holds, willing strength and conviction to pour into Wei Wuxian through the force of his fingers alone. “Together.”

Sizhui frees one of his hands, shuffling the infant in his arms a bit, and places his warm palm on his parents joined hands. “Together.”

Wei Wuxian giggles, a lilting sound that burbles out of him unrestrained and free, until he chokes on it and his mouth twists down. Before either Lan Wangji or Sizhui can react, he’s crying, deep shaking sobs that wrack through his thin frame like tidal waves. He lays his forehead tentatively down on their stack of hands. Lan Wangji feels the tears soak his fingers, and imagines them running off his skin before dribbling into the bathwater where they will eventually disappear down the drain, sadness sucked away with the twist of a dial.

Sizhui kneels down next to Lan Wangji, still confidently maneuvering his body while keeping Xiaohui safe in his embrace. “Dad, I believe in you. Whatever this is, you’ll beat it.” With a snuffling whimper that could be interpreted as agreement, the baby rouses herself. Sizhui slips his hand out of the pile and rises back to his feet. He pets Wei Wuxian’s hair once, before laying his hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “I love you both, well, all three of you. I love our family, no matter what. Goodnight.”

Lan Wangji fondly watches his children leave, his heart lighter than it has been in awhile, despite his husband’s form still quaking against his hand. Eventually, Wei Wuxian begins to settle, aftershocks shuddering through him, slowing down until he is motionless beyond the soft rise and fall of his back. He picks up his head, eyes shining with unshed tears, but still sparking with a fire absent for too long. He stands up, stepping out of the tub, and Lan Wangji helps him into his fluffy robe before they make their way to the guest room. They climb onto the bed, Wei Wuxian tucking his legs underneath him, Lan Wangji perched stiffly and grabbing for his husband’s hands. 

“Lan Zhan. I feel different.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji longs to hear him speak, to understand what is going through his husband’s mind.

“I have been...drowning. Lan Zhan, please don’t break my fingers while I’m talking,” pleads Wei Wuxian, as Lan Wangji releases his hands, his grip unconsciously tightening to the point of discomfort at the mere thought of something dire and irreversible happening to his beloved husband.

“Lan Zhan, I love you.” Wei Wuxian offers a small smile before he leans forward to kiss Lan Wangji’s cheek. “No more talk of drowning, okay? I’ll phrase it a different way for you, Er-Gege. It’s like someone threw me off a cliff in my own mind, and I hit the bottom, but instead of just laying there, able to think about how to crawl back up to the light, really formulate a plan, things keep dragging me down, holding me against the bottom. I feel trapped.”

Lan Wangji sighs but schools his expression into his familiar mask. “Mm.”

“No, no, Lan Zhan. Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me when I’m saying this, don’t run away.” Wei Wuxian rises to his knees, clutching the front of Lan Wangji’s shirt, hands still slightly damp from the bath, pulling him closer until their noses are practically brushing. “Stay with me here, talk to me. Let me listen to you and what you’re thinking when I say all that.”

“You first. You deserve to be heard.”

“Okay, Lan Zhan." Wei Wuxian averts his gaze, shame painted across his elegant features. Lan Wangji promptly tips his face back up; there is no need for his husband to ever hide his candor. "I’m still down there. I didn’t think anyone could see me, I really didn’t. Lan Zhan, I sometimes think…”

“What?”

“...”

“Wei Ying.”

Lan Wangji pointedly keeps his husband's face directed at his own, demanding to read every flash of naked truth that flits across his expression.

“That...I’m not worthy of you loving me, of Sizhui being such an amazing kid, of having a second chance with another baby. I know you’ll tell me I am, but sometimes, Lan Zhan, I don’t think I’m important enough or good enough and I’m not sure why anyone cares.”

A thousand cuts would not hurt Lan Wangji’s heart as much as the words spilling out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. He’s aware that his partner has suffered from bouts of self-doubt and self-worth, although through the comfort of everyday life, he’s blindly grown to assume that those issues dwell long in the past. He’s apparently fallen for the too-bright wobbly smiles that he used to see as transparent, and didn’t notice anything was wrong until Wei Wuxian’s cheerful facade completely shattered like delicate crystal. 

Lan Wangji shifts his body even closer to his husband, reaching down to grab at Wei Wuxian’s hips and lift him into his lap. He can’t recollect a time he’s had this man straddling his thighs and not felt an inkling of ravenous desire, a pulse of heat shooting down his spine and spreading like wildfire from his toes to the roots of his hair, lust clouding his brain as they connect to one another. Sometimes he hovers and cages his partner protectively in his arms, while other times he blissfully sinks into the mattress beneath him, but regardless of position, they always move together. Instead, at this moment, all Lan Wangji wants is to tuck Wei Wuxian into the safety of their bed, where he can stand guard, raging against anything that wishes to harm his husband. Grey eyes open wide in shock before slim arms abandon their spot at his chest to slip smoothly around his neck. 

“You are worth everything, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian’s head drops and nestles into the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck, warm soft lips pressing into his skin as arms tighten around him. “Don’t leave me.”

The words are mumbled but Lan Wangji deciphers them. “I would never.”

“Please.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, _please_. I can get better, I know I can. Lan Zhan, promise me.”

“I promise I will always be here.” If Lan Wangji could brand that oath onto his skin, right above his heart, he would, gladly, and as many times as necessary to convince Wei Wuxian that his commitment to him will never waver. It never has wavered, yet that doesn’t mean anything if his husband has doubts, harboring silent anxiety that his husband is slipping away because he wages war against his own mind. “Wei Ying. I see you."

Lan Wangji tilts his head and presses a kiss to the side of his husband’s head, the only part he can awkwardly reach at this angle. He cups his palms around Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, raising his face away from his neck so they are eye to eye, and he stares into dark grey flecked with light that sparkles the longer he stares. Lan Wangji kisses Wei Wuxian’s forehead, his temples, the crown of his hair, and every inch of his head he can possibly lay his lips on. Then he leans down and lays three kisses directly over Wei Wuxian’s strongly beating heart; Lan Wangji feels it thundering underneath his mouth. 

“Kissing my head like you can wish away the demons in my mind, Lan Zhan, like you can fix me with your love. That’s bold even for you, although if anyone can will away my traitorous thoughts with affection alone, it’s you. But three kisses over my heart, Lan Zhan? What does that mean?” Wei Wuxian teases and it’s the most beautiful thing Lan Wangji thinks he has ever heard. He is well aware that there is a long road ahead of his husband, as well as himself and probably Sizhui too. Their small family will need to band together to support Wei Wuxian through whatever journey lays ahead as he rediscovers himself and how to cope with Life’s winding path. 

Lan Wangji tries to smile, though he is afraid it might be more of a grimace as he tries to maintain a handle on his emotions, though he can feel his eyes tingle, eyelids tightening as they quiver with the heavy weight of tears. Wei Wuxian watches him curiously, eyes flitting between his mouth and his eyes, as he awaits an answer, confident he’ll get one from the man he somehow still trusts with his life. Just as Lan Wangji opens his mouth, his bottom lip trembles and he bites it in an attempt at control.

Wei Wuxian smooths it out with his thumb, pulling his lip free and smiling softly at him. “Thank you, for letting go. It’s okay, Lan Zhan. It’s okay to feel things, even if sometimes they are too big and too disgusting and too much. I’m here for you too, you know. Lan Zhan, I’ll never leave you either. I promise. Lan Er-Gege, I love you so much I think I might lose my mind.”

Lan Wangji runs his hand through lovely wild hair that he adores, inhaling the scent of lotus blossoms and Wei Wuxian and a love that runs so deeply that it is a part of his very essence. “I love you, Wei Ying. Your mind is beautiful. If you lose it, I will help you find it.”

“You can’t wriggle away like a worm on a hook, Lan Zhan. I know you love me and my crazy mind. Why three kisses over my heart? Lan Zhan, tell me.”

“At our wedding we kept the tradition of bowing three times. I was thinking of the heavens and the earth, and of our vows to each other. I thought about everything I promised you and how I intend to keep every single one. And-” Lan Wangji cuts himself off, eyes slamming shut and ears flushing pink. 

“I know what you are thinking, Lan Zhan. Stop. You have never failed me. I am failing myself. This isn’t your responsibility.” Wei Wuxian holds his shoulders and gently shakes, willing Lan Wangji to listen and believe him. 

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “You have not failed.”

A chuckle breaths out next to Lan Wangji’s ear, not giddy nor self-deprecating, but merely a simple sound of relief. “Oh Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I think you are blind to my flaws. But okay, let’s believe I haven’t failed, then you haven’t either. We are both blameless in this tragedy and yet we both want it fixed. So what do we do?”

“We fight. We fight this together.” 

“Okay Lan Zhan. Let’s fight, you and I against myself. There hasn’t been anything we can’t do yet, let’s not make this the first thing.”

“Wei Ying. We are not battling _you_ , we are battling what is inside you that is making you hurt. I will never fight you.”

“Okay Lan Zhan, okay. I believe you. As long as we’re together, I believe anything is possible.”

Lan Wangji rubs his hand up and down Wei Wuxian’s back as he snuggles in closer, the two of them pressed together so tightly he thinks he can hear his husband’s pulse thrumming just underneath his skin. “I am yours, Wei Ying. Tonight, every night.”

“Putting a different spin on everyday, eh Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian backtracks as he sees the slight scowl on Lan Wangji’s face. “Okay Lan Zhan, I know you’re serious. I know you’re mine, I never forget it, and I am yours. You’re possessive and you like me saying it, so I’ll say it again. I am yours, Er-Gege, in any way you want or need me.”

“Wei Ying.”

“No no, I’m being serious, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian laughs and Lan Wangji’s heart swells rapidly at the familiar banter and light-hearted atmosphere; his head spins with the solace it brings him. The first tiny step has been taken upwards, somehow defying gravity, they’ve found a handhold in the smooth walls of the dark abyss Wei Wuxian has fallen into. Whether Lan Wangji needs to be the steady presence providing a boost towards freedom, or the strong hand that reaches down to pull Wei Wuxian out over each hurdle, he will accept any role in this escape plan. He has gotten a glimpse of his husband tonight, the vibrant and fully alive man who brings light into anyone’s life he touches. 

Lan Wangji doesn’t want anymore clouds looming over Wei Wuxian. He craves the sun, joy and exuberance shining throughout their home, illuminating the family and coating them all in love and warmth and belonging. 

Lan Wangji begins to prepare Wei Wuxian for bed, brushing and braiding his hair, helping him into his pajama pants, fetching him a glass of water. When all the nighttime chores are complete, he scoops his husband up in his arms, earning a snort of amusement and a peck on the nose, before carefully laying him down on the bed and pulling up the covers. Once he is tucked in securely, Lan Wangji slides off the bed. 

“Where are you going, Lan Zhan? I want to fall asleep with you.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Lan Zhan.”

“I am here. I’ll play your favorite song.”

“My favorite song, Lan Zhan? Did you bring my dizi?”

“Of course. It’s with my guqin.”

“Well then Lan Zhan, let’s play _our_ favorite song together, and then you can lay with me so we can fall asleep together.”

“Together.”

“Together, Lan Zhan.”

The soft, gentle tones of a piece of music composed by Lan Wangj years ago, when he was unknowingly courting his future spouse, but perfected over the years as they have played it in unison, makes them both drowsy the longer they duet. Wei Wuxian’s eyelids are half-lidded as the final strains pour out of their fingers, mouths, and hearts. Lan Wangji places the instruments to the side before slipping under the covers to join his husband, forgoing most of his own nighttime routine in order to simply be with Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji wraps his arms around his husband, who instinctively tucks his head underneath his chin and cuddles as close as possible. Lan Wangji presses a goodnight kiss to the top of Wei Wuxian’s head and feels himself drift off, a sense of peace and hope floating throughout the guest room and blanketing both occupants.

Down the hall, through the open door, in the quiet darkness of the nursery, Lan Sizhui hums his parents song as he rocks his baby sister, his voice softly continuing on from where the music has ended.

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously with adoption, the physiological hormone surges that can trigger postpartum depression wouldn’t impact WWX. However, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders that comes with the pressure of raising a newborn, especially with a partner who is MIA frequently for work, can start to wear down even the strongest of people, through no fault of anybody's. You don't have to have given birth to struggle with issues like isolation and inadequacy and anxiety that crop up easily in the wake of a new addition to the family. That being said, this was not a magical healing story, there will be ups and downs for WWX as he tackles his depression head-on, but with LWJ in his corner and aware of the situation (as well as their precious son), he will definitely get to a place where things are manageable and enjoyable again for him. 
> 
> Of note, this is not meant as a representation of how everyone copes with depression, just merely a reflection of my own experiences, filtered through the lens of these two wonderful MDZS characters.


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